


The Definition of Us

by CircleUp



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21749977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircleUp/pseuds/CircleUp
Summary: Tony visits Stephen after hours to relax.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48
Collections: Secret Santa 2019 Presents





	The Definition of Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DevilOfWire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilOfWire/gifts).



They're not friends.

Tony isn't sure what they are. They're enemies sometimes, quicker to trade jabs with each other than with anyone else, but after Afghanistan the first person he called when he was settled back in his penthouse after the brief was Stephen, so, you tell him what that means.

He thinks maybe he doesn't hate him, not really. Stephen's a mirror, and the parts Tony hates the most are the parts he hates in himself. It's not real hatred as much as self-loathing, just like it isn't caring as much as narcissism. He's fascinated and appalled in equal measures.

He can't turn away.

The cloak likes Tony. When he steps through the portal—always, always it turns his stomach around, he never gets used to it, doesn't know how Stephen does it—into the sorcerer's vast library, Tony hears that familiar flutter first thing as the cloak leaves its master to settle, warm and heavy, around Tony's shoulders. It's less Tony wearing it and more like the cloak is wearing him, comfortably draped like an old friend.

"Stark. One moment." Stephen is sitting at a desk, poring over a book as a pen writes notes for him on the paper beside it, untouched by his hands. Tony lets the cloak steer him over to where tea is out, with an extra cup he presumes is for him.

Tony doesn't care for tea, but last time he'd turned it down, the cloak got fussy. He pours himself a cup and holds it in both hands, letting it warm his fingers as he roams the room, idly browsing the bookshelves. He doesn't bother talking, knowing full well that just like Tony, Stephen can't be pulled out of projects until he's damn well ready to be pulled.

Stephen looks up finally with a flourish, the book snapping closed and the candle going out in a smoke puff, because he can't just close the book and stand like a normal person, no, everything's a show with Stephen, even when the audience is just the one. He takes Tony in with sharp brown eyes, the only person who can make Tony feel like a bug under a microscope, pinned and small.

"Oh, do I finally have the pleasure of your attention?" Tony still hasn't drank any of his tea. He's just carrying it around, a little heater for his hands.

Stephen smirks. "You're the one who stepped through my portal, Stark."

"You cast it!"

They stare at each other for a moment more and then both break into grins at the same time, unable to help it. The cloak nudges Tony forward and he doesn't resist, until he's in front of the sorcerer.

Stephen's eyes have warmed. "Can't sleep?" He guesses, because it's two in the morning for Tony back home.

"I could use a distraction," Tony says, and Stephen lifts a hand. The cloak steers Tony to an armchair and then flies off of him to swirl and settle around its true master.

"Here." Stephen motions with his hand and the tea in Tony's cup changes to something herbal and foul-smelling. He wrinkles his nose in reaction. The sorcerer is unapologetic. "It can taste good, or work well. Not both."

"Thought this was a booty call," Tony mutters, and drains the cup all in one. He pulls a face afterwards. "Gross."

Stephen collects the cup and sits in the armchair next to him. "I thought it sounded like you needed company more. That and a good night's sleep."

Tony's eyes close of their own accord. Whatever was in the drink eases tension he's been holding onto for weeks and he can't help a little moan at the feeling. "How'd you get company from me saying 'hey let's fuck over your desk again'?"

There's a smile in Stephen's voice. "Let's call it intuition," he murmurs, and falls silent.

Tony doesn't wake when he's lifted up and carried to be tucked into bed. He's been in Stephen's bed before—their hook-ups are casual, more of an itch to scratch than anything, but relatively consistent for two people with very erratic schedules—but never like this, dead to the world, the deep lines in his face softened. Never without Stephen either, who makes sure he's comfortable but doesn't stay.

They aren't friends. They certainly aren't lovers.

If Tony doesn't know what they are, Stephen doesn't either. The sorcerer allows himself a moment to simply watch the other man sleep, and then he turns and steps through a portal out of the room and back into the library, his cloak aflutter around him.

The portal closes and leaves Tony to his dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> For DevilOfWire.


End file.
